


Engulfed in Flames (Please Touch Me)

by Supervium



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Eventual Smut, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6201511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supervium/pseuds/Supervium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life to Jongin is filled with dull colors, burning sensations, and confusing thoughts. A mistake is what his mother used to call him, a burden is what his father's business partners often name him as; Jongin knows he's not perfect like his sisters. He's not pretty or smart or able to talk for hours about meaningless things without wanting to hide. He's broken. Kyungsoo thinks Jongin is perfect, though, and he wants Jongin to think so too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Engulfed in Flames (Please Touch Me)

**Author's Note:**

> -PLEASE READ-  
> This contains some very sensitive topics that include mental illness, mentions and attempts of suicide, and mentions of abuse. If you are uncomfortable with any of these please do not continue reading. At any time if this story affects you negatively and you need someone to talk to you can chat with me @supervium on Tumblr.  
> ***NOTE***  
> This story is on hold until further notice, thank you.

The yellow orange glow of the setting sun always comforts Jongin, if only in the slightest. The sky was an immersive purple, swirls of turquoise and other deeper blues blending with the orange light and varying greys of the congealing clouds.

Jongin wonders idly if the forthcoming hazes mean anything. It could be the first snow fall of the year, the breeze has turned icy once the warmth of the afternoon sun had begun its descent. The trees also tell of the impending winter, their leaves having turned maroon and brown a few weeks back, covering the ground in a dark blanket. They’re almost completely bare now.

It’s always around this time that Jongin’s mood turns a bit more melancholy, as the world is prepares to go to sleep, settling down, ready to drift into a peaceful slumber to reawaken rejuvenated the next morning. When Jongin should be taking the evening meal with his mother, father, and visiting sisters. Or even working on one of the pointless tasks his father continuously assigns to him in hopes of making him useful.

Or maybe his father has given up and instead just wants to keep Jongin busy, to keep him in place, and remind him of what his responsibilities are—or per se what they were, if Jongin was what he was born to be.

Dusk is a time for relaxation and peace. Physical peace and mental peace.

Jongin has yet to obtain either.

Though the air is chilly and Jongin’s skin is sensitive to the friction of the biting cold and the soft warmth of the fire crackling only a few feet from him, he sits on the windowsill, one leg dangling from the open glass.

_It would be so simple._

The thoughts always centers themselves in Jongin’s mind at this time, the only promise of peace he can perceive.

_The window is open._

_The ground is four levels below._

_It would be quick, practically painless._

_No one would notice, just don’t scream._

_The snow would cover your body until spring._

_No effort, just lean a little more._

_Wouldn’t it be nice?_

_You’re useless anyway._

_Please._

_Mother could use your room as a study, she would love that._

_She’s always wanted one._

The strings of thoughts run and repeat, tripping over one another, tones varying from demanding and loathing to pleading and logical. All pushing and pulling.

One way or the other way, this or that, yes or no, black or white.

Another way. Both. Maybe. Grey.

Always grey.

Always in the middle.

This is always the conclusion. This is Jongin’s escape, this is his peace. _His_ decision.

If he wants, he could fall from this window, at this very moment.

Feel the frosted air numb his limbs slightly before a split second of agony in which his skull smashes into the ground, splitting it, spilling his blood onto the dying grass. Or maybe his spine would shatter first, or his other bones. Piercing his skin as he lays there waiting finally for the promised peace that would eventually follow as the crimson breaths a little life back into the earth, stealing it from Jongin.

Not right now though.

That’s another thing Jongin treasures, the choice to end his own life will always be there, available to him whenever he feels the time is right.

The sun has set, leaving behind a purple and grey streaked sky that will slowly fade to black. Just as Jongin removes himself from the window and pulls the thick pane of glass down to shut the cold out, there is a faint knock at his door.

Jongin only has a few moments to prepare himself before the ornately decorated door swings in gently and one of his sisters appear. She smiles slightly but Jongin can see the tightening around her eyes that signals when she gets worried.

His sisters have only been visiting for a few days and will only stay a few more, since they—unlike Jongin—have most things about their lives figured out. His oldest sister had gotten married first and moved from their manor to a city-port, where her new husband owned a small but successful shipping company.

Jungah, who Jongin is closest to and the middle child, had only moved away last year. Leaving a lost Jongin to wonder about his place in the world alone. When she had packed all of her belongings in a trunk and had it hauled onto the back of the carriage was the first time he had seen her cry.

Jongin was secretly hoping she would change her mind and stay with him. He didn’t want to be left alone with the disapproving looks of their father or the detached stare of their mother. But after a slight whispering of, _“You’ll find your place, brother, you’re still young. I love you so much, please keep strong.”_ And a bone crushing hug, she had rode away, taking away Jongin's only security in the world.

It wasn’t long until his father found him crying in the garden, he'd been angry. Scolding him, because it wasn’t like she had died. Because Jongin wasn’t a child anymore. Adults were always composed, always in control of themselves.

So Jongin learned to control himself, to control his emotions, his actions. Sometimes, he has total control and can turn off his feelings all together and sometimes it happens on its own. This usually only lasts a few hours, until someone snaps him out of it. Usually a servant. One time he fell in the river a few miles from the manor, which seemed to work too.

“We haven’t seen you in so long,” Jungah murmurs quietly, a frown marring her pretty face. Why couldn’t Jongin be pretty like the rest of his family? “And you don’t come often to evening meals. Have you eaten today?”

“I’ve been busy.” It’s an excuse, but Jongin shrugs nonchalantly. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning, he hadn’t felt the need to. He liked the feeling, he feels lighter.

“Will you? Eat I mean,” She sees through the ploy, of course, but as always, Jungah won’t try to push Jongin into action. She’ll just make suggestions and nag, it’s how she’s been managing Jongin since they were young.

Again Jongin shrugs, “Father has given me more work to do; I’ll get around to it.”

Jongin tosses a few logs into the fireplace, suddenly hating the cold that is seeping into his bones. When he finishes, he looks over to Jungah, who still stands by the door, looking off into the distance thoughtfully.

The orange of the flames make her face glow and bounce off the golden lining of her white silk dress. Jongin has always been jealous of her. When he was much younger, he had hated her.

She was the epitome of what his parents wanted their children to be: Pale, cream skin, mahogany eyes, charcoal hair. All of which Jongin didn’t have. He was tanner than all of his living relatives, taking the trait from his great grandfather on his mother’s side. His hair was lighter, the mahogany his eyes should be, instead of their glittering black.

He had only started hating Jungah when his mother began trying to change his appearance, trying to mold Jongin into what his parents thought he should be.

There were years of Jongin sitting in baths of ice water, of a maid scouring gritty powders into his ice cold skin to lighten it. Burning botanical mixtures being dropped into his eyes, rendering him blind for days on end after each treatment with no change to his irises. Crude natural oils and charcoal and snake blood and any other dark substance rubbed into his scalp to dye his hair midnight, if only for a few days.

But Jungah was the only one who had taken care of him through all of it. Who after each bath, brought towels and blankets and pillows from her room to Jongin’s own to bundle him up to keep out the illness that no one else cared to prevent. Who brought Jongin food late at night during the period in which his mother had withheld it due to his sudden weight gain. Who guided a crying Jongin around the manor, taking him where ever he wanted to go when he could see nothing but blackness.

He couldn’t hate her. He could be jealous of her, but he couldn’t keep the hatred. Not when she cared for him so much.

“Jonginnie, you should come stay with us,” Jungah whispers and she moves slowly, as if afraid Jongin would run or disappear, and wraps her arms around him. “You can live with us, you would love it. The sun is always shining. There’s so much you would love, I’m sure of it. The people of the town are so kind.”

Jongin doesn’t say anything, doesn’t respond to her hug or the nickname she had called him for so long. It burns slightly, but he’s not sure if it’s physically or mentally. He can’t accept her offer. Jungah is married now, she isn’t just Jongin’s protector anymore, she has a husband and soon she’ll have a family. Jongin doesn’t want to burden her, not anymore, when she’s on her way to her own happiness. Jongin can take care of himself now, he’s an adult.

She pulls away after a few seconds, hurt clouding her eyes and Jongin feels a hint of regret. He doesn’t mean to hurt her, but they aren’t children anymore. Jongin can’t just let her shield him.

“There’s a lake and a theater, remember when we used to sneak out to go watch the shows? We could do that again.”

Jungah is searching him, looking for something that would catch Jongin’s attention. The more she talks though, the further Jongin can feel himself slipping away. His vision is slightly off focus now and thoughts that were buzzing through his head settle, he faintly notices that she’s still talking.

Numbness spreads through Jongin’s body and though he hadn’t meant for it to happen, he doesn’t do anything to stop it. Hopefully it’ll last long enough for his sisters to leave, so he won’t have to hear Jungah’s promises. The ones that can’t be true anyway, because they were just too… _happy_.

To Jongin, the world is beautiful. _This_ world. The one he sees through a misty haze and everything feels like a dream. Where, though the colors are duller and blend together, they seem to _finally be there._ Jongin wants to fall asleep. Or maybe he just wants to fall.

_The wind is soft. So nice._

_I want to feel more._

_Did I open the window?_

_The sky is so pretty this time at night._

_If I lean just a bit more, I could probably touch-_

_~~~_

 

When Jongin awakes, he doesn’t open his eyes right away. He can’t remember when he fell asleep. The insides of his eye lids are red, telling him that it is daytime; but how long he’s been out, he can’t tell.

Jongin cracks an eye open, letting it adjust to the faint morning light slanting in from his window before opening the other. He’s in his room, lounging under the silk duvet of his bed. As he turns his head slightly to the right, a sharp pain flashes behind his eyes, disappearing as quickly as it came.

Jungah is at the foot of the bed, slouching forward and snoring minimally. But why would she be resting in Jongin’s room when she has a perfectly good one only down the hall?

Something must have happened. At this, Jongin feels guilty. He probably blanked again, he probably scared or worried her as well. It would be better if she wasn’t here, so she wouldn’t have to waste her time caring for him.

He can’t just sit there though, the sun is already shining, and Jongin feels a thread of anxiety go through him at how long he’s been out. Anything could have happened in that amount of time and he would be passed out. Useless.

How pathetic.

Trying to not jostle his sleeping sister, Jongin slides out from under the covers and tries to quietly as possible pad over to the smoldering fireplace.

Replacing the now scorched wood and coaxing the flames, Jongin sets about gathering clothing from his wardrobe. Though the fire is now roaring, Jongin can feel the bitter cold worming its way under the thin layers he wears currently, and takes out a thicker vest and an extra pair of socks.

He almost makes it out of the room until the door creaks, jolting Jungah awake. She looks around dazed for a moment before her gaze settles on Jongin, morphing into a dense mask of worry.

Jongin tries to flee before she can question him but she’s quicker, standing and pushing the door closed, leaning against it.

“I have things to do.” The words fall from Jongin’s mouth, tasteless. He doesn’t want her prying questions or her apprehension and fear about his well-being. He doesn’t want her pity.

“Jongin please,” Her hand circles around his wrist and she gives a slight pull, trying to wrestle Jongin out of his stiff stance, “Please talk to me. When did the episodes come back? I thought we had worked through those. I want to help you, please, but you have to tell me what’s wrong. Or tell me anything, it could be anything. Do you still visit the-”

She’s rambling and tugging on Jongin’s arm—making him drop the garments—her eyes wide and voice slightly wavering. Even through his sleeve, her touch burns. Not like the comforting warmth it was before she left, but now a scolding sting that sears into his wrist.

“I’m busy.” And Jongin tries to pull away, feeling even more caged than ever before. She won’t relent though. Jungah surges forward and wraps her arms around him, enveloping him in a tight hug, her forehead pressing into his chest.

Jongin just stands there.

“You tried to jump out of the window Jongin,” She whispers, “You turned to me and said ‘It’s so beautiful’ and then you tried to jump. It—it wasn’t you, you’re entire personality changed. And… and you were smiling.”

His skin is burning.

Jongin pushes her away, not meanly, but suddenly enough to where she makes a surprised noise. He backs up toward the window, the air in the room is suffocating now. Too warm.

As he opens the window Jungah reaches out to him again, a terrified look crossing her features. Jongin breathes in the cold air and holds up his hands, to ward her off or to assure her he won’t do anything more he’s not certain.

“Jongin, is that what you want?” Jungah’s eyes are bloodshot now, brimming tears. He needs to calm her, Jongin doesn’t want her to cry. It’s wrong to cry for him.

“Please don’t cry.” Jongin murmurs, almost pleads, feeling helpless and remorseful again. He tries to convey comfort by relaxing himself, slumping his body against the wall and doesn’t make any sudden movements. Jongin would reach out to her, but there’s still painful heat tracks up and down his body from her hug.

Jungah makes a strangled noise and a few tears slide down her beautiful face, “How can I not cry? My baby brother wants to kill himself and I’m not supposed to feel anything?”

“I don’t want-” Jongin’s quiet voice breaks off. He doesn’t want to kill himself, not really. It’s just that, it’s _his_ choice. _His._ The only thing that really belongs to him. He tries again, “I just want-”

_But how will she understand?_

“What do you want Jongin? Please tell me.”

“I… don’t know.”

The question itself is more complicated than Jongin anticipates. He can’t name anything specific, he hasn’t ever really had the luxury of wanting for something. The last time Jongin recalls wanting for something is when the last eye treatment he had left him blink for months, really he just wanted it to _stop_ , and he had just wanted his vision.

“Come to breakfast,” Jungah changes the subject weakly, her eyes still puffy but dry now.

He doesn’t want to upset her further, so Jongin nods cautiously and when she exits the room, Jongin slumps to the ground. The prewinter air soothing the rest of his burning skin as he changes, foregoing a bath in favor of fulfilling Jungah’s wishes.

When Jongin gets downstairs and to the dining room, the table is already set. His father sits at the head of the polished mahogany table, looking down through a pair of spectacles at a sheet of paper. The man has not changed at all from how Jongin remembers him when he was little, except the patches of now-grey hair that interrupt the raven black of his neatly kept beard.

Jongin’s mother sits to the right of his father, sipping tea and chatting idly to Jungah, who sits across from her, on their father’s left. Jongin is informed in a low voice by Jungah that their eldest sister had to leave earlier than expected when he settles next to her.

Their parents don’t particularly pay attention to Jongin, not giving him little more than a glance when his chair scrapes the floor or when the server places a clean plate, two bowls, and utensils in front of him. It doesn’t bother him anymore. He rather have their apathy than their hatred or anger.

Jongin doesn’t pile food on his plate but just takes a thin slice of toast, quietly taking small bites. Jungah notices and dishes Jongin a small bowl of clear broth, sliding it over to him and placing the spoon into his hand. When he doesn’t begin eating immediately, she sends him a pleading look.

Reluctantly, he brings spoonfuls of broth to his lips.

Jungah and their mother continue to talk about small things, like how her life is with her husband and if she’s settling comfortably. Jongin tunes the conversation out, opting to concentrate on a small crack that spider webs up the wall.

Jongin’s father clears his throat and draws everyone’s attention, looking expectantly between them all. “We will be having company soon. I expect the best hospitality.”

The tone is the same as well, the authority.

Though Jongin is taken by surprise, he makes sure to nod an affirmation, however his father barely spares him a glance. It’s strange to have a guest so soon. Only a few weeks have passed since their last one had left, usually they would have more time to prepare the house and make any special arrangements that were necessary.

As if reading his thoughts, Jongin’s mother says a variation of the words playing through Jongin’s mind.

“The man who is coming is very important. It’s taken until just yesterday to make these plans. This needs to go very well, there can be no mistakes.”

The statement isn’t aimed at him, considering every time there is a guest Jongin’s father finds something for the boy to do, but Jongin stiffens slightly anyway.

His parents discus different preparations that will need to be put in place and follow it by how many new staff will need to be hired. The only thing that keeps Jongin from drifting too into his own mind is when Jungah mentions she’s going to be staying around for a few months.

Their mother is extremely content with this and enthuses about how great it will be, planning the many activities that can be done together.

Jongin wants her to leave. He needs to be in control of himself and worrying about Jungah every time he does something is not what he wants, especially when there is going to be a guest. He can’t be worried about how his actions will affect her every time he does anything, how or what will make her upset or worry.

It’s just too much work.

Jongin is use to just being. He doesn’t worry about what his parents think of him as they don’t pay much attention to him anyway and other than that, he’s alone. He manages himself through the day and if he happens to lose himself for a few hours, there’s no one around to care, so it doesn’t matter.

But with Jungah around it will, because she’ll be watching him like a hawk.

Jongin pushes away from the table and mumbles an excuse as he leaves, not sparing the set of eyes that follow him a glance.

All of the fireplaces in the manor are roaring, like a subtle rumble of thunder that accompanies Jongin as he walks back upstairs to his bathroom. The furnace in the basement is also lit, because his bathroom is filled with stuffy warm air that clogs his lungs, scraping at them with dry tendrils.

Not bothering to warm the water, Jongin opens the tap and lets the ice water flow into the tub, stopping it when it reaches a reasonable level.

After discarding his clothes Jongin slowly submerges himself in the bath, adding a creamy mint mixture to the water, filling the room with the calming aroma.

Jongin hates the feeling of cold but it’s better than the scolding he would get if he warmed it. The discomfort doesn’t last long anyhow, because a numbness sets in.

A few minutes pass and Jongin begins washing at his numbed limbs with the rough scrub. He uses more of the mint, hoping quietly that it’ll pale his skin, even slightly. Like always, it doesn’t. His skin stays the same tanned shade he was born with, under, of course, the now red patchiness that comes with over-scrubbing.

Jongin finishes his bath and redresses quickly. The water now a dark grey from the charcoal that he had used to dye his hair and a pleasant mint scent lingering in the stifling air. He’ll have to redo his hair later

 

~~~

.

His study.

It’s a place that hangs over Jongin like a daunting ghoul. That’s where he is now.

Much smaller than all the other studies in the manor, it still rests its weight on Jongin's shoulders whenever he enters. The room carries a certain power.

On the desk lay stacks of papers—meaningless other than the responsibility they give him—filled with words that he had read over at least fifteen times now. He’s going to read through them again though, just to make sure he’s extracted all possible information from them. Sitting down, Jongin begins skimming over the papers.

Jongin is to make a report for his father about them. It makes him useful. And though the little, logical part of Jongin tells him that his father doesn’t even read the reports, he pushes it away. This is the only thing Jongin is good at.

He likes to read and write. Most would be prone to enjoying fictitious stories of heroes and villains and good and evil, but Jongin likes facts. He likes to study them, correlate them, and understand them. Because facts are facts, they do not change from person to person, they will always be as they are. Concrete in the sense that they will always be there and will always exist. Everything that exists can be studied, observed, and memorized. Everything that exists must be as it is meant to be.

The grass is green and the sky is blue. They will always be that way and if they change, it is because that is how they are and there is an explanation. The grass will turn brown and die because snow will cover it and the sky will turn grey because that is where the snow comes from. Simple.

People on the other hand… people confuse Jongin.

This is the reason why the report Jongin is currently compiling is taking so long. It’s about a study of the human mind; of human behaviors.

How any of this can be concrete is a mystery to Jongin. Humans can’t be studied, they change too quickly for that. Jongin takes himself as an example, one moment he feels the weight of the world crushing him and then he lets it go. But he’s noticed others don’t do that, or perhaps they can’t. Much like when his mother lost a child—his to be younger sibling—and she wouldn’t stop crying and screaming at the staff members. Why hadn’t she just turned it off then if she was suffering so much?

Jongin doesn’t know.

But Jongin can’t blame anyone for feeling, considering he’s not the best at controlling himself. He’s getting better at it, but still not perfect. He knows how to smother some emotions that cloud his mind, like fear and happiness. He’s learned to dull them. Jongin knows when these emotions are present in himself, but when they come, he observes why and then blots it out. Some emotions are more difficult to control than others, such as the sharper ones; anger or sadness. 

Anger and sadness are wild emotions, as Jongin labels them. For Jongin, he knows of certain things that trigger them inside himself but then there are seemingly random moments when one or both of them take hold.

Sadness usually roots itself within Jongin when he is doing nothing, like lying in bed at night. This is why he tends to keep himself busy, doing this or that. The solution tires him but when he lies down, he falls asleep instantly. Other times, sadness just happens upon him in the strangest situations. He’ll be reading a study and suddenly he'd want to weep for no reason.

Anger is the same way. Jongin gets angry when he sees one of the stable hands whip a horse for not exceeding expectations. He gets angry when he messes up a character as he writes and has to start over again. He gets angry when bad things happens to his family. These, Jongin feels, are things everyone gets upset over, so naturally, it makes sense that he too gets angry at them. However, just last week when a bristling burst of anger came over Jongin, he had destroyed everything in the east sitting room. He still isn’t too sure why, because it had disappeared as suddenly as it had hit. Luckily, fits like this happen rarely.

Jongin hasn’t managed to smother guilt either. It’s a constant nagging that is present almost indefinitely. Even if Jongin knows specifically why, he can’t do anything about it, even if he tries. It’s his existence that makes him feel this way. Not that he exists, but how he exists. He isn’t perfect as he should be. He isn’t the perfect as Jungah is and he isn’t the adequate his oldest sister is, he’s a disappointment.

Jongin begins reading over the first piece of parchment again when he finishes the stack.

This knowledge is what stays with him as he analyses the papers on his desk. If he does this one thing his father asks of him well enough, maybe he’ll get better. He can’t be physically beautiful like his sisters but maybe this is something he can do well in.

It’s making him useful, making him worth something. No one else wants to sit around and read pages and pages of statics and facts, but that just means that Jongin can do something, that he is the main candidate to do it. Because if no one else wants to, Jongin will.

Needing to please isn’t an emotion, Jongin tells himself, it’s a basic need, not a want.

These are Jongin’s thoughts.

But the little part of Jongin knows most of these things are lies.

In his thoughts and in his actions.

He’s a liar.

Not on purpose, but as a reaction.

Jongin lies because it’s what he has to do. He feels every emotion that runs through his body. He cries himself to sleep most nights, even if he doesn’t acknowledge he does it. His conscious suppression of every little emotion is what gives him the panic attacks and episodes of rage he doesn’t remember .

Jongin keeps himself behind a veil. He doesn’t want to feel anything. He wants to shut it all off. This is one of his only wants. An off switch. This is why he cherishes the option to kill himself, a permanent off switch. It’s the guilt that stops him. The future guilt of making his sister cry over him. The guilt of any negative emotion his passing would give anyone, whether it be the disappointment from his father or the disgust from his quite religious mother. He wouldn’t be able to bare it.

Everyone else keeps Jongin behind a veil too. He’s insane. Mentally unstable. They know this. They don’t want anyone else to know though. This is why any workers that are hired to upkeep the manor are warned beforehand of Jongin and his fits. They are also allowed to deal with these fits in any way they deem necessary, which leave a confused Jongin with bruises and gashes that he believes he accidentally did to himself. This is also why, sometimes during his fits, he attacks.

The random assaults are why Jongin’s father keeps him busy. If Jongin has free time, he has time to think. If any negative emotions cross a line in Jongin’s mind during these times, he snaps. The violent mental breaks are rare enough where he has more disassociation breaks than anything else, but no one can be sure. So Jongin is given thousands of papers to read over to keep him content.

Jongin’s father hates him, but he loves him as well. His love is the only thing that keeps Jongin alive, love and hope. Hope for Jongin to somehow miraculously get better one day, so his father tolerates him.

Jongin’s mother hates him. Jongin’s mother rather he be dead. Jongin was supposed to be a twin, but his brother had died before he was born. While Jongin had the dirty traits his mother was lucky to escape, his twin had the preferred ones. Luck was what kept Jongin alive when he was younger as his hell bent mother tried to forcible change him into his dead perfect twin. Jongin was a murderer, so of course he should pay the price. But nothing worked. Jongin was just the living proof that his mother had failed to produce the perfect children she should be able to. The thought further enforced when she miscarried years after Jongin was born. She believes Jongin is her curse.

Jongin wants to be perfect.

So he lies.

Lies to himself and tries to lie to others.

And they tolerate him and his lies that hide nothing.

 

~~~

 

Time passes, the middle of winter and first snow are almost upon them. Jongin finishing his task and being asked to do another. He also slowly allows himself to be distracted by Jungah, who persistently nags him to do things other than work.

They’re out walking now, the crisp air pricking at Jongin’s skin, bordering on painful. He endures it because Jungah is happily pulling him along a trail. Jongin is glad her gloves and his coat are both thick, as he doesn’t feel her burning touch even slightly.

 Jungah does all of the talking, as per usual, with Jongin giving slight nods of his head at expected intervals.

They’ve been walking for what feels like hours now, circling the same trees from their childhood. Though Jungah is enjoying it, it’s bitter for Jongin. Why do all these things together when in a few weeks she’ll be gone anyhow? Why pretend like things can be like the use to?

But Jungah always looks on the bright side of things. Jongin doesn’t know how she does it so much. It’s as if she lives in a fairytale and a spike of envy goes through Jongin as he realizes that she does.

He has been zoning out and when Jungah stops walking to look at him, Jongin snaps out of it and tries to push the negative feelings away.

“Do you hear that?” She whispers, cocking her head to the side. Jongin listens to the surrounding forest and further beyond. He hears the sounds of horses, but more than the few they keep in the stables.

Jongin nods and then he’s being pulled back the way they came, almost stumbling when his foot catches on a rock in their path.

“Our guest is here Jongin! I forgot how interesting some of Father’s guests can be.” Jungah begins rambling, tugging Jongin passed the stables and barn and around the main house of the manor, smiling.

Jongin stops dead in his track when he remembers that he shouldn’t be greeting the guest, that he shouldn’t be seen. Jungah is brought to a halt as well, even as she tries to yank Jongin to the road. It would be ridiculous for them to go rushing out to greet the guest like they’re children anyway.

“Jongin, come on! I want to see who it is, let’s go,”

“I have to go inside.”

The excitement in Jungah’s chocolate eyes is snuffed out by Jongin’s words as she’s brought back to reality.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if-”

“He would mind.” Jongin tries as lightly as possible to pull away from her and she lets him go easily.

He pretends not to notice the disappointment on Jungah’s face and pushes down the slight twinge of guilt it causes him.

Jongin leaves his sister and enters the manor through the kitchen entrance. He gets cast a few looks from the limited scullery staff before he disappears through another door and up the cobblestone flights of stairs leading to the fourth floor.

He’s never understood his sister’s excitement for when they have guests. There have been so many throughout the years that Jongin can’t even begin to count them. When they were young, some of the more common guests would bring Jungah little gifts and toys, which she would share with Jongin. Most of them ignored Jongin though, which isn’t a surprise, since it was only a few years ago that he was finally allowed to venture openly around the manor.

There’s only one visitor that Jongin can recall, not her name, but her face. Jongin was so young at the time he doesn’t know how long she really stayed for, but it seemed like a very long time. She was beautiful to Jongin, even if he overheard his mother berating the guest when she wasn’t around. Her skin was much darker than Jongin’s own, a deep mocha.

She had played with both Jungah and Jongin frequently, talked to them and read with them. It wasn’t just her playing with Jungah and tolerating Jongin sitting in the corner like he had done so often. She had also taught Jongin how to dance.

Jongin smiles ruefully at this memory.

She and Jungah had watched Jongin for hours while he was dancing in the basement, where, oddly, the pretty visitor stayed.

Like all things though, when Jongin’s mother found out, she had stormed in and dragged Jongin out painfully by his arm.

Why was he doing such evil things? Dancing is what beggars do to make a mangy living, scrounging pennies from passersby on the streets. Jongin was more sophisticated than that, he had respectable parents and a nice home and he’ll do no such thing as dancing. Or is that what Jongin wanted? To live out on the streets and eat from the trash for meals?

So Jongin stopped dancing because he didn’t want to further disappoint his mother.

A few days later, the nice woman was gone and the basement was empty; when Jongin asked Jungah about it, Jungah had hushed him and soon Jongin just stopped asking.

Maybe he had imagined the whole thing.

Jongin enters his room and takes to his ritual of refilling the fireplace, musing to himself how he should redo his hair. It’s a messy process, but it’ll distract him from how their house will be occupied for the coming months by a stranger.

Jongin quickly plucks some of the charcoal bits from around the edge of the fireplace and puts them into a round porcelain bowl he keeps in his bathroom. Taking out the small mirror he only has for this specific reason and setting it on the ground next to him, Jongin adds a cup of water to the coals and begins to grind them down with a hand sized block of stone.

He adds more bits of charcoal to the mixture until it’s a thick paste that stains the stone and gets under Jongin’s finger nails.

Slowly he spreads the paste into his hair, messaging it into his roots with the help of the mirror. The color is perfect and to Jongin it doesn’t matter that the dust will collect under his nails or slowly rub off onto his clothes or bed linens. As long as his hair stays black for only a short amount of time, it’s worth it.

Taking a small comb and raking out some of the larger bits and excess, Jongin admirers his work with the mirror. His hair is the only thing that can be changed, the only thing that can be perfected.

His hair is one of the main reasons why almost his whole wardrobe is black, other than his affinity for the shade.

Jongin waits a few minutes for the paste to dry and then carefully rinses the comb to run it through the coated locks again.

He doesn’t notice when the door to his bathroom is pushed in or when Jungah observes him for a few moments before clearing her throat.

This makes Jongin jump and almost drop the mirror.

“We have guest _s_ ,” She begins, stressing the ‘s’. Carefully she plucks the comb from Jongin’s fingers and gently pulls it through his hair. Even if she’s trying to be as cautious as possible it hurts Jongin’s sensitive skin and he pulls away, turning to her.

She backs off and hands the comb apologetically back to Jongin, “We were only supposed to have one but he brought his son unexpectedly,” She sits on the ground with Jongin a few inches away, “I think he’s around your age.”

Something sours in Jongin. Great. Hopefully he won’t try to bother Jongin. Hopefully _Jungah_ doesn’t try to make Jongin friends, like she always has.

“Do Yuseung and his son Do Kyungsoo. They’re both very polite, I think Yuseung-ssi is a nice person, he complimented almost every piece of furniture in the sitting room as well as the paintings. Mother was happy with this. Kyungsoo-ssi is very quiet, other than introductions he hasn’t said anything else. Well I mean, except apologizing to Father for showing up suddenly.”

Jongin tones out the flow of information he would usually be interested to gather but he doesn’t much care. Two guests, that’s it. He doesn’t care what Do Yuseung does for a living or why he’s at their manor. He doesn’t care that Do Kyungsoo is around his age and is quiet, _“just like you Jonginnie”,_ or that Jungah thinks it’s a great opportunity for Jongin to be more social.

“So you’re getting ready for dinner right?”

“No.”

Jongin gets up, dusts off his dark pants and rinses the comb and bowl under the stream of cold water that pours in from the now open tap.

“You didn’t eat breakfast or lunch today Jongin.”

“Hmm, that’s because you have been pulling me around the entire day.” Jungah snorts once at Jongin’s tone and flicks some water at him.

“Stop messing around.” Jongin hates the cold and dabs the icy water away with the sleeve of his shirt, sending Jungah a half-glare while she’s still smiling slightly.

“And stop being so difficult Jonginnie! Anyway how can you not go to dinner when your hair looks so nice?” She flicks a strand and then grimaces when some of the black dusts her fingertips.

Jongin huffs and mutters out, “I’m still not going.” Even though he feels lighter from the compliment.

 

~~~

 

Jungah convinces Jongin with a few more silver-laced words and opens the door to the dining room an hour later, a neatly dressed Jongin following hesitantly.

Really, he shouldn’t be around the guests. It could influence any sort of deal that may need to happen in the wrong direction; Jongin doesn’t want his father to miss out on an opportunity because of him.

As always, their father is sitting at the head of the table with their mother to his right. However, two unfamiliar faces sit in the spots to his left, where originally Jungah and Jongin would sit.

Jungah pulls Jongin, who had halted by the open doors, to the table and sits next to their mother with Jongin to take the seat to her left.

She greets both the men at the table politely and then motions to Jongin before their father speaks over her, “You’ve met my daughter, and this is my youngest son, Jongin. Jongin this is Do Yuseung and his son Do Kyungsoo,”

Pleasantries are something that Jongin has to go through every now and again, so when he bows and shakes hands with them, he tries not to flinch at the burning physical contact. When he greets them, his voice is just above a whisper and he can’t look either of them in the eye. Jongin has never been good around people and this is no exception.

He sits quickly and hopes he doesn’t show the embarrassment he feels, hoping specifically his father and mother can’t see through him.

Jongin does flinch when the older guest lets out a booming laugh and says merrily, “What a fine family you have, even more admirable than your house if I do say so myself.”

Jongin’s father laughs with him and thanks him for the kind words while Jungah and their mother both smile, the latter’s being tightlipped, and Jongin slightly stunned at the indirect compliment.

 _He’s just being polite._ Jongin’s mind whispers to him as he sips the watered down dinner wine. _Or he was just talking about Jungah._ These options Jongin accepts easily, no need to boost himself up with little white lies.

Throughout dinner, Jongin keeps his head down and avoids the conversations going on around him. Usually he would be able to tune them out completely, but most guests aren’t as… jolly as Do Yuseung. It’s almost fascinating to Jongin how someone is able to keep a wide smile on their face for an hour straight.

The older man is animated as well, talking with his hands and raising his voice excitedly when he speaks about something with any particular interest. It’s this fact that has Jongin listening as he stares off into the bowl of soup he sips, eyes flickering up occasionally when the guest voices something predominantly noisily.

Jongin can’t help but compare himself to the guest that sits opposite of him. It’s once in a blue moon that Jongin meets someone around his own age, even rarer that it’s a guest. It’s annoying to Jongin how Do Kyungsoo is so… _something._ Jongin is instantly jealous when he glances up to inspect the guest and sees wide, chocolate, round eyes and raven hair. The only thing Jongin could hold a bit of his own against Kyungsoo with would be height, but that’s it. He clings indignantly to the observation.

Jongin is glad when dinner draws to a close and the servers begin gathering the used dishes. He rises along with Jungah and bids a quiet goodnight to their guests and parents.

Once alone in his room, Jongin goes to open the window. Socializing for long periods of time make him feel stifled and he needs the fresh air.

The glass panes of his windows are frosted and the sky is ink black; Jongin guesses the first snow will be soon as the dark grey clouds suppress the stars from his view and an ice laced breeze blows in.

He’s also tired, but it’s too early in the evening to try to sleep, though it’s only an hour off midnight.

Off in the distance the hoots of an owl echo in the forest and reach Jongin’s ears faintly. The call is only the third one he’s heard in what seems like forever so Jongin leans slightly out the window to try to spot the glowing yellow eyes he knows are somewhere out there.

All the trees are bare, stabbing at the sky with naked branches. Jongin can’t see very far even with the solitary streaks of moonlight breaking through the clouds. The call sounds farther away when it resonances a second time and Jongin gives up looking.

The cold from the outside is trying to drag Jongin into a slumber as it rustles his hair. Maybe he’ll actually be able to sleep peacefully tonight if he allows the frostbitten sandman to pull him under.

His bed is like a pile of soft snow as Jongin slips under the covers not bothering to change. For once in a long time, Jongin falls asleep with no thoughts barraging his conscious, trying to slip little thorns of anxiety or sadness into his mind.

 

~~~

 

The last few weeks have gone by at a snail’s pace for Jongin. He currently sits on his bed, with all the covers stripped off and thrown to the ground, amidst piles of parchment and a few leather bound books. Little flakes of coal dust flutter from his head with every mechanical movement of reading and turning page after page.

It would be much easier to concentrate if Jongin moved his work into his study, but he doesn’t want to. In fact, Jongin hasn’t left his room much at all in these weeks, preferring to stay safe in his haven rather than being subjected to the guests.

The guests have been staying for only a month and Jongin has started to resent them, further withdrawing from his usual minimum participation to only showing his face once a week, if that. It would be so much easier for everyone involved if their guests were _normal._ If they would act as they’re supposed to, how Jongin has gotten use to guests acting over the years. But they don’t.

Do Yuseung, the older of the guests and a business partner to Jongin’s father, is… strange. All previous guests took outpost in the guest wing on the third floor, kept to themselves, discussed various ventures with Jongin’s father, dined with the hosts, stayed for a maximum of two months, closed a deal and left. Jongin mostly didn’t know whether a guest had left or not unless he heard about it from someone else since the guests were mostly quiet and went on about their business. Do Yuseung is not like these guests.

In the first week of their stay Jongin had run into the boisterous man a half dozen times, each of which resulted in Jongin being stuck for an hour listening to Yuseung go on about nothing in particular in an enthusiastic tone and expressive hand gestures. The man would ask Jongin never ending questions and what his opinions on a certain deal were, all of to these Jongin said as little as possible while nervously looking for an escape. That’s why Jongin started avoiding common paths around the manor and began sticking to a room for hours at a time.

The reason he is now currently residing in only his room, rather than in his study, is because of an annoyance. Particularly the other guest. Not only has Do Kyungsoo sauntered in uninvited with his raven hair and mahogany eyes but only a few days after his arrival he had taken claim on Jongin’s study.

Jongin makes an annoyed sound at the memory, still bitter about it. And why did it have to be _Jongin’s_ study? There were at least six spread throughout the manor and ones that were closer to the guest’s room, but _no_ it had to be Jongin’s study.

Even if the boy had offered an apology and an explanation of how Jongin’s mother had said all of the studies on the third and fourth floors were empty, it didn’t help the fact that he violated Jongin’s sanctuary. However daunting the study was to Jongin, it was still his.

Jongin hasn’t even went back up to check if Kyungsoo had abandoned the place since the night of that evening, when he raided most of the contents—carrying as many books, journals, and ink vials as he could. Most of his finished reports were still in there, stacked in dusty piles on the bookcases, but Jongin doesn’t have much of a need for those anyhow.

It’s on the seventh page that Jongin’s hand begins cramping—only the second time, the first being halfway through the fourth—and even if the boy tries to work through it, as he usually does, Jongin is forced to set the pen down carefully on his side table. The report he currently is working on is not assigned from his father but rather just something for him to do. It’s a study on the variety of different plants that exist in the forest surrounding the manor. The section Jongin is working on is how and which survive the descending temperatures outside.

Sitting still amongst the papers and books causes Jongin to get antsy. He’s been feeling more on-edge recently and suddenly the room feels too small and too big at the same time. Jongin jumps up, knocking into the table in his sudden urgency, and escapes through his door into the hallway.

Jongin doesn’t register that he’s outside until the cold snap of wind rises goosebumps on his uncovered nape. He blinks a few times to relieve the ache the blinding snow causes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. The bare trees block the view of the manor from Jongin but he recognizes some marking slashed into the trunk of one of the unadorned larches.

He goes further into the trees, dragging his fingertips on the trunks as he passes. The thin shirt he’s wearing does nothing to cover him from the biting chill but still Jongin doesn’t go back inside. Walking like this is clearing his mind, something that is rare, and he doesn’t want to give it up yet.

Golden rays of the sun wash through the trees as the sun sets and it’s then that Jongin hears a voice. It’s very faint but as soon as it sounds again Jongin sighs; it was Jungah. For the past few weeks he hadn’t seen his sister besides the times she had barged into his room without even knocking and startling Jongin so bad he had spilled a vial of ink all over himself.

Jongin makes his way out of the line of trees and back toward the manor, where he assumes Jungah’s voice is broadcasting from. However, the sight of a figure next to his sister has him freeze for a moment and scowl. Jungah waves at him to hurry but Jongin doesn’t move. It was bad enough that his personal space has been invaded, but now it seems that Kyungsoo has taken to accompanying his sister—if their linking arms was anything to go by.

Sighing, Jongin begrudgingly makes his way towards them, meaning to just slip past and back to his room, until Jungah stops him with a hand on his arm. She withdraws it immediately when she sees she’s gotten his attention, eyes still crinkling with worry at the sight of his thin shirt.

“Mother and Father have taken Kyungsoo’s father out for dinner and a show tonight, I thought it would be nice if we all ate together.” She murmurs, fingers twitching like she wants to reach out again.

Jungah has a hopeful light in her eyes and Jongin’s brain goes into overdrive trying to make the simple decision. He doesn’t want to. Being around Jungah is stifling enough but with Kyungsoo’s added presence—even with the cold air around them—Jongin already feels slightly suffocated. He tries not to pay attention to their linked arms either as a thorn of jealousy plants itself in Jongin’s mind.

“I’m busy,” The guilt twists low in his stomach as soon as the lie works it past Jongin’s lips and Jungah frowns.

She nods though, dark hair covering her disappointed gaze and softly, “I understand,” followed by an even quieter, “But if you’re going to be out here longer, please put on a coat.”

Jongin nods even if he has no intention of following through and watches Jungah tow Kyungsoo back inside. When the door closes is when Jongin breathes a sigh of relief; glad that she didn’t decide to push him into doing it.

It is freezing, Jongin thinks dumbly after a moment, pressing lines into the reddened flesh of his arm with the tips of his equally cold fingers. He hadn’t really noticed. Well, he _had_. But not enough to the point of irritating like it’s beginning. Dark purple and a mix of grey clouds lick the sky as the sun begins to set and Jongin pulls the door open after waiting a good amount of time, not wanting to run into them again.

The stone corridors feel much lonelier than before though and maybe Jongin should have had dinner with them. A fit of distance, twinkling laughter makes Jongin stop, hand on the ornate railing of the back staircase, and he bristles. Seconds later a lower pitched, boom of chuckling follows. It’s been a while since he’s heard Jungah’s laugh and it almost makes him smile until a small voice echoes in the back of his head.

 _He hasn’t heard Jungah laugh because when Jongin is around, she isn’t happy. Because he’s a burden._ It’s not a difficult thing to figure out. _Obviously being around Kyungsoo is much easier, better._

The revelation has Jongin clutching the railing. _Of course it makes sense._ His vision swims.

_She’s going to leave him again._

**Author's Note:**

> *This has been in the works since October 2015 -.-  
> *It's going to be much longer and sorry for the cliffhanger  
> *I hope it makes sense and isn't completely confusing  
> *Comments and criticisms are always welcome  
> *I'll try to put out something happier before I update this since I didn't post anything last month  
> *Anyway thank you for reading! (And I hope it didn't suck too bad)  
> *If you need anything explained I'll be happy to help  
> 


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